


Radio Silence

by Laetitia_Laetitii



Category: Runescape
Genre: Gen, Mahjarrat, Zarosian Empire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6325399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laetitia_Laetitii/pseuds/Laetitia_Laetitii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in December 2014. When I came back to RuneScape after a year's break, I was disappointed with a lot of the new content. The thing that pulled me back into the game and right into the fandom was Mahjarrat Memories. One of my favourite memories was Azzanadra's, which describes his descent into madness after the Betrayal. It explained the character's previous remarks about "hearing Zaros' voice in his head", but also highlighted his total dependence on his god. This came out of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radio Silence

The Communion Portal has been glowing for five days, and yet his Lord stays silent.

_Outside the faithful wait; beyond the city walls the traitor’s army gathers, but no answer is forthcoming._

Speak to me, My Lord, for I am lost. Guide me, give me wisdom, for others wait on my word.

Within the stone circle of the portal the light burns and the darkness swirls.

_The one I was meant to reign with has turned on you, My Lord. Help me defend what you built against him. Help me, I need your strength!_

He has spent those past five days alone in this chamber, trying to establish contact. 

_Speak to me, My Lord, your followers need you, the Empire needs you now. Answer me!_

The light flickers, but nothing stirs. 

No voice comes forth, no answer sounds; no more from the portal than from the dead. He has prayed and pleaded without rest for five days, searching the Spaces Beyond with his mind until the hungry things waiting in them become almost real. His consciousness has reached out to the lower planes until it feels frayed at the edges and scarcely wants to return to his body. To no avail. His strength is running out, and to no avail. Finally, he sinks on his knees in front of the altar, laying a weary head on worn stone.

The chapel itself was already ancient by the time his people arrived at Senntisten. Threadbare and quaint, with touches of Menaphos in its decorations. Great wide doorways and a low, round altar built to accommodate Chthonians back when they still mattered. He holds on to its edge now, knuckles white, and begs.

_Have I not done as you willed? Have I not governed your Empire as I should? Have I not been devoted enough; did I ever disobey you once? You bestowed on me the highest honour that you could, then shamed me by bringing another one level with me, and never have I said a word against you! You chained me down with the Council, forced me to fight my every decision, and I tolerated the indignity of it. I governed according to your edicts, preserving your laws, stood up to the Legates and the Cardinals, guarded what is yours in your absence! If ever a thing I did was dear in your eyes, My Lord, give me what I ask for in return now and speak!_

But he’s tired. Mother Mah, he’s tired. After millennia of faithful service, the one he served is gone, and he’s been left behind. And somewhere at the edge of his mind he knows that what he speaks to is but cold stone, and all his fingers are clutching is cold stone, and cold stone never heeded a prayer. He's alone.

From that knowledge the thought swims up, almost not his own: Now the duty is yours alone. Your Lord is gone. Your co-regent is gone. The Cardinals are gone. If you can rule by yourself, do it.

The words fill his mind, the challenge gives him strength. Slowly, trying not to begrudge the separation he rises, disgusted with his own weakness. He gathers himself for a while by the altar, and the portal’s glow almost reflects his face. He forces down the despair and the rage, and finally the shame of having spoken out of turn, until his mind runs again like a cold, intricate machine. He knows what to do.

Sure of his feet once more, he heads to the door. With every ounce of strength left, with every last strand of stateliness; with every remaining bit of pride that might help project what his Lord meant him to be –he throws the stone doors open and exclaims:

_Friends! Faithful ones! Lord Zaros speaks!_


End file.
